Sweets Sorrow
by Mustardlover16
Summary: After season 10 episode 1, so spoiler alert. Brennan and Booth share stories of hanging out with Sweets.


BXB Brennan BXB

552 hours. 23 days. 3 weeks and 2 days. That's how long Sweets has been gone. Dead. Deceased. Muerte. Anyway you say it, any measurement of time given to it makes it worse. Contrary to my previous belief system, I don't think there's anyway to rationalize this kind of loss. No equation to quantify this pain. There's no algorithm to explain to Christine why Uncle Sweets won't be coming over this weekend.

Booth has been taking her to church every Sunday. He lights a candle for Lance each time. Then he has Christine kneel down with him and pray a Hail Mary and an Our Father. Now every time Christine sees a candle she says, "Hi, Uncle Sweets." She says it softly, but not mournfully. She doesn't know mourning yet, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

I can't explain it, but every thing I see reminds me of Sweets. At home. In the Lab. Booth's office. Founding Fathers. The Diner. Every thing.

There's a video on my cell phone of him. Him and Christine. It's the one I wanted to show Booth when he was incarcerated. The one of Christine singing. I haven't shown it to Booth yet, but I'm glad I haven't. If I had, it would have haunted him. He'd be having the dreams I have of the video.

In the video Sweetsis sitting at a little electronic keyboard, Christine right next to him.

"Show me C, Christine. Where is C?" Sweets points to the keyboard, head bent toward Christine.

"C!" She shouts, jabbing the white key with her small, long fingers. Piano playing hands, Sweets had said. Long, slender fingers. Dexterous for her age.

He grins, nodding, "That's very good, Christine."

He lists the other notes off, and one by one she taps out the keys.

Sweets looks up at the camera, grins his goofy grin and gives a thumbs up.

"Ready, Christine?" He asks.

"Yes! Play, Uncle Sweets, Play!"

"Yeah, Uncle Sweets, play." My disembodied voice sounds from behind the camera. It is full of happiness and laughter.

"And...Go." His fingers arch gracefully from one key to the next, glide to the flats and sharps of the black keys and back down to the melodious ivory. He plays slowly, carefully. He's playing at Christine's pace. While he plays the complex cords, she plays single notes. Her fingers don't stay on the board as his do, but rather lift off after each note, searching for the next key.

"The itsy, bitsy spider..." She pauses, searching again.

Sweets points carefully to the next key, "Went up-"

Christine interjects, remembering, "Went up the water spout!"

It continues like this, until the song has ended. Sweets and Christine, singing and playing. Sometimes she plays the wrong key, and he pokes her in the ribs, "No, silly, that's E, not C. There you go! That's right!" She giggles and squirms on the seat each time.

Once the songs is ended she bounces up and down. "I did it, I did it!"

"That was wonderful Christine." Sweets encourages.

"Looks like Daddy's going to find he has a virtuoso when he gets back, huh Christine?" My voice calls over her cheers.

Sweets' glance holds right above the camera lens, where my face is. His eyes close and he laughs, nodding. "She'll outplay me soon enough, isn't that right, Christine?"

She loves the attention. She nods, "I'm really good! Teach me another, another!"

"What do you say to Daddy?" I interrupt.

She turns to the camera, her eyes suddenly solemn. "I love you, Daddy. I miss you."

Sweets eyes the camera, tries for a smile. "Hey, Booth. Uh-" He shrugs sheepishly. "We're working on it." He promises. Christine's lower lip wobbles, her eyes fill with tears. Sweets lays a hand on her shoulder. "Want to learn some Beethoven?" He asks, his fingers already gracing the room with the first few notes of the Fur Elise.

The video ends.

Booth was at the office when I first watched the video after Sweets. I was at home, on the sofa. I sobbed. I haven't cried like that in a very long time. I just wept and cried. Christine found me, and she crawled up on the couch and into my lap. She put her arms around my neck, buried her head in my hair and I held her and tried to calm my breathing. She fell asleep on my shoulder. I woke up when Booth came home, woke to him regarding me with his sad, brown eyes. His shoulders were stooped, not set back as usual. His head hung. Hands on his hips, he shook his head, dispelled a deep breath. I lay Christine on the couch, careful not to wake her. Stood, and walked toward him. He kissed my cheek thoughtlessly. He was as lost as I was. He went to our room to take a shower. I went to make dinner, in case Christine woke up and got hungry, which was likely. I made spaghetti with spinach and marinara sauce. Sweet's personal favorite of my dishes.

The second bout of sadness hit me at work. There I was, studying a set of remains-that of a Caucasian female, age between 34 and 38, judging by the dental wear. Cause of death-strangulation, indicated by the fracture to the hyoid. Most likely with a scarf, according to Dr. Saroyan's analysis of the ligature markings on the flesh. Defensive wounds to the ulna, radius and phalanges. Particulates and dermis cells under the nails. DNA matched the sister. Open and shut case. I swung by my office to retrieve the notes for Caroline when I glanced behind my desk. A picture from an office Christmas party. Myself, Angela, Hodgins, Cam, Booth and Sweets. Sweets was wearing this ridiculous red and green striped hat with elf ears. He and Angela had had way to much alcohol. They were laughing and carrying on about something I had missed. Booth was laughing too. Cam had merely shrugged at me, shaken her head and smiled.

I set down the files, retrieve the framed photo from my desk. He's grinning in the picture. Angela is holding the mistletoe and he's just laughing. Booth and I are side by side, glancing at the two. Hodgins is rolling his eyes good naturedly. Cam is mid-sentence. Probably shooing off the waiter who had tried to serve us more booze. Caught up in the memory, winded by the loss I fall into my chair. I just hold the photo and look.

Half of me wants to throw the picture across the room, rip up the photo and scream. He left and took part of me with him. Part of us. How could he?

The other half wants to just sit there, close my eyes and remember. That is the more rational half, so I give in. I just listen to his voice. Booth's voice. Cam, Hogins and Angela, all laughing and ho-ho-ho-ing. Everyone shouting, "Merry Christmas!" A knock at the door brakes me from my reverie. Angela. She sees the picture, knows exactly what I'm doing. She always knows how I feel.

"Hey, sweetie."

"Angela..."

"I know." She walks over to my couch, at the other end of my office. Pats the seat next to her. Holds out her arms and wiggles her fingers. She wants a hug and so do I and it doesn't matter that I am crying already. Lanky, long arms. Tight hug. Head against head. Deep, ragged breaths. Drowning. Stunted gasps. Sad sighs.

"He was a good man." I say.

"The best." She agrees.

"Nothing will ever be the same. No one will ever be like him again."

"That's what makes the time we had with him beautiful, Brennan."

I nod, sniffing. Angela is right. When it comes to beautiful, she always is.

About two weeks after the Funeral, I came home from dropping Christine at daycare. Booth was at the office sorting through and filing case information on the latest closed case. I had finished with the bones, all the evidence was transferred to the FBI. No reason for me to be at work that day. I tiredly jam the house keys into the lock of our new house. The house Sweets had help me pick out. The house he had help me decorate. That thought is all it takes to freeze me in my place. Every glance, every stare unearths a memory of Sweets and I, dragging in the furniture, hanging photos and Booth's knickknacks on the walls.

I suck in a breath, half laugh half choke. The stadium seats. They had been just as hard to get into this house as they had been to pick off the sidewalk when Booth first found them. Originally, Sweets and I had tried the front door. Not enough space between the door and the wall directly in front of it to leverage the seats in. Didn't stop us from trying.

I had had the front in, Sweets the back. We had carried it up the driveway to the front door. Set it down so I could open the door. Picked it back up and I walk backward, lifting it to avoid the side table directly beside the door. My back hits the wall way before Sweets is even close to entering with the other end.

"Gah." He said

"Just try to angle it from your end, I'll angle it from mine. Go left." He swung around. I grunted. "My left, Sweets."

He grunted the affirmative once, shaking his head like, _Come on, Sweets, of course her left. What were you thinking?_

We tried to ease it in, but still the chairs hit the door frame. New plan. We tried going the other way, the way Sweets had started. No go. Then, we sent them on one end and tried to get them through the door that way. Bust. Anyway we angled it failed. We set the chairs down.

"Gah, Booth and his stuff!" Sweets swore good naturedly. He was hardly ever irritated. That day was no exception.

"If Booth wasn't so sentimental, moving in would have been a lot easier." I grunted. Unlike him, I had very little patience. Everything seemed to wear on me without Booth, everything was harder and more frustrating.

"Now, Dr. Brennan, let's be reasonable," Sweets had started in on me immediately, "You know, of course that this is no fault of Booth's."

"We're moving _his_ stuff into the new house because _he blew up_ our other one. And now _he's_ not here to help because _he _got arrested.

"Dr. Brennan, I know you don't feel that way. You're frustrated and confused and so you're not on your A game, and I understand that-"

"No you don't!" I had yelled. "No one does. Because as difficult as this case is, at the end of the day everybody else gets to go home and lay down with the person they love. Angela and Hodgins. Cam and Arastoo, you and Daisy. I come home-but it's not home, exactly, because it's somewhere new and foreign and I have to tell Christine that her daddy is coming home soon, although I have no way to know that's true and then I have to lie all alone in bed, knowing that if I had found something that day, he'd be out of prison."

Sweets was silent for a long moment. He was waiting for me to start up again, but I was done. I leaned against the wall of the front porch which covered the front door. The brick had been cool. He started to speak, then stopped. "May I?" He asked.

I didn't meet his eyes, I stared into the incomplete house. I nodded.

"I'm sorry all this happened to you, Dr. Brennan." I nod a thanks once. His apology didn't make any of it better, but he'd been so much help to me those past few weeks. "But-and I say this as a friend, not a shrink- I just want to remind you that _this_," he waved his hands around vaguely. "Is not Booth's fault. You and I both know that if he had his way right now, he'd be here and he'd make you sit on the couch and he'd be doing all the moving himself."

I nodded. "I'm just...Very lost without Booth."

"And he's the same way without you."

"And he has no one to help him when he has an emotional break down." I sighed, snorted some sad semblance of a laugh. A tear rolled down my cheek.

Sweets only nodded. Then his eyes lit up. "We should try the back door."

"Pardon me?"

"The stadium seats will slide right in through the back."

I sniffed. "Excellent idea, Sweets." Just as he said, we slipped them in through the back door, no problem. Then we were able to situate them in the hall by the front door just as easily. The seats touched down, both ends at the same time-a sense of triumphant finality on his end, and sense of weary expectancy on mine. Then we just stared at the seats for a while. At some point we both sat down on the plastic fold outs of the stadium seats, admiring our labor of love.

Eventually I got up and snagged two beers from the refrigerator. Sweets and I just sat and drank beers and admired our handy work. The house really was coming together. Beginning to feel like home. Course, it wouldn't be completely right until Booth's return, but it was a start. Sweets kept drawing me in to lighthearted conversations about trivial things. Occasionally he made me smile. Inevitably, he started talk about returning to his own house and family. I understood the longing for that. I got up and walked him to the door, thanked him for coming.

"Really, Sweets. Thank you. I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

"That's what family's for, right, Dr. B?" He smiled, ran his hand through his hair sheepishly. I nodded in the affirmative, smiled for his benefit. "See you tomorrow, Dr. Brennan."

"Tomorrow." I agreed. I remember thinking _if I have to do all this without Booth, at least I have Sweets._

And now here I am, on the bleacher seats, no chance to sit with him here again. Or anywhere. I will always regret being hard on him, especially in the early stages. He was just a kid. A kid. I know Booth feels the same way I do. He feels responsible, too. In some ways I think we both sort of thought of Sweets as ours. Our trial kid. Our kid before Christine, before we lived together. That's completely irrational of course, it doesn't make any sense. But at times, it felt that way. Still feels that way. At some points I think Sweets felt the same way about us, we were sort of foster parents to him. At least people he could look up to and depend on. I just hope we did right by him. I'd like to think we did. He deserved that much- a good, dependable family. I firmly believe we gave him that, at least. A good family. Not an easy one, but a good one. A loving one.

BXB Booth BXB

The toughest part of every day is going to work. Brennan and I get up, wake up only to remember who we won't be seeing today, right? And, see, every night we go to sleep knowing that we'll have nightmares about him. She has nightmares about having to do his autopsy. About how she felt his pulse leave. I have nightmares of finding him, again and again, everywhere. The old house. The office. The parking garage. Heck, even the grocery store. It's total bullshit, the whole thing. I mean, of all the people in the world to die like that, bleed out on a concrete floor, it had to be him, right? Because life isn't fair. And it's that kind of injustice that is impossible to fix.

But, like I was saying-going to work. That sucks. Every room of that building has these shadows. I remember seeing him in every room. I almost asked Brennan if I should get another CAT scan to check for another brain tumor, just to be safe, you know? I mean... I see him in every room. Sweets would talk some shrinky-babble which explained all that, if he was here.

One of the worst rooms is the briefing room. It's a medium sized room, two exits. There's a podium at the front, nothing flashy. From there it's just chairs all the way to the back of the room. It's like a really small auditorium. We hardly use the room, which is lucky for me. But when we do use it, all I can see is Sweets. I remember standing at the podium, the senior agent, announcing the FBI commendation for outstanding field work. It went to Sweets. I had recommended him for the award. I never told him that, though I think he knew. I don't know. The kid had done really well. I gave a little speech I'd thrown together last minute thanks to being swamped by the last case. You know, just went up there and talked about recognizing good hard work ethic, dedication, all that jazz.

Retrospect says the kid deserved a lot better of a speech than I gave him. I'm not the speaker though, that's Brennan. I should have asked her for help on the speech. Should have gotten her insight. Better yet, I should have just have her write it and then add my own thoughts at the end. Course, Sweets would have known exactly who wrote what, anyway.

There's a picture that started circulating with the news of his death. It was in the newsletter and on the bulletin board. It's a picture of Sweets and I at the podium. In the picture he's smiling, plaque in one hand, my hand in the other. He's looking down at our shaking hands. I'm clapping him on the shoulder- an anthropological sign of approval, Brennan would say. Both of us are smiling bigger than usual for the crowd and the cameras. Not that I wasn't genuinely happy to give him the commendation- I was. The kid deserved every bit of praise he got that day.

Some of that praise was from me. "Would you look at that, huh? Congrats, Sweets!" I had laughed.

"Thanks, Booth."

"Hey, you deserve it. The team wouldn't be the same without you." If only I'd known the truth in those words back then.

Again, "Thanks Booth. I really appreciate that."

"Come on, we should celebrate. Founding Fathers. My treat."

"Ah, no, I shouldn't." He had said.

"Oh, come on. What? This is your big day? Now, look I'm going to give you a free piece of advice, man to man, okay?"

"Alright."

"Alright!" I grinned, "Never turn down a free beer." He laughed at that. I didn't have to say anything else. We went out and drank a couple beers and laughed.

I eventually snagged a copy of the picture and took it home. I had Angela print two copies on photo paper. I Keep one at the house, on the mantel with the other pictures of family and friends. The other one I took to the Royal Diner.

See, they have this wall where you can put photos up. There's a couple of Brennan and the squints and I up there already, I mean, hey, there's bound to be, right? We practically live there. I figure one more can't hurt though. I pick up lunch to drop off for Brennan-she's helping Dr. Edison with some dusty old bones, figured she could use the brain energy- and I just tack it up, right by a picture of Brennan and I drinking a shake. I glance side to side. No one watching. With that I give the picture a sharp, quick salute. Honor the fallen.

I pick up the food, quickly pay and leave before any memories can surface.

I went into Parker's room the other day, to make sure he cleaned his room like I asked. He did. I was nearly out of the room when something caught my eye that made my heart clench up. It was an action figure, some shaggy dog-faced thing sitting on Parker's desk. The weird thing was, I couldn't place why I had had that reaction toward the thing. I snatched it and jogged to the kitchen. Parker was already gone with Rebecca-I just missed him. Bone's back was to me, washing the dishes in the sink. "Bren, what is this?"

She threw a quick glance over her shoulder distractedly, then shrugged. Then did a double take. "Where did you get that, Booth?"

Her hands were shaking. I strode over and took the plate from her hand before she could drop it. "What is it?"

"Is that Parker's?" Her voice wavered.

"I dunno, I didn't give it to him. Doesn't seem like the kind of thing Rebecca would buy him." Confused, I shook my head, "Where'd this thing come from?"

"It's a wookiee, Booth." Though my head was bent downward in the direction of the toy, my eyes looked up at her face.

"Star Wars, Booth. It must be from-"

"Sweets."

Silence. She nodded.

God... Suddenly I felt like I shouldn't be holding it anymore. I put it down on the counter and stared at it. So did Brennan. Another reminder. A small thing that on any other day I wouldn't have even noticed. Why did I notice it? Some subconscious memory link? How could one hunk of plastic- some $12.99 piece of plastic hold so much meaning?

He must have given it to Parker. Just handed it to him one day. Maybe that's why Parker had wanted me to take him to the comic-con over spring break. He'd said something about dressing up like a storm trooper? Borrowing a costume from... From Sweets.

Both my kids. He'd gotten close to both of them while I was in prison, according to Bones. I hadn't really thought about it until now. I guess it hadn't really registered. But here was proof. Plastic proof of something I hadn't even known existed- a friendship between Sweets and Parker. Suddenly I felt like I had taken something I shouldn't have, seen something that was hidden before.

I picked it up and walked slowly back to Parker's room. A room almost exactly like the one at the old house, where Sweets had stayed. He'd slept in a bed just like this one. In a room who's walls were painted just this shade, covered in the same posters, filled with the same things.

_Alright, Booth, get it together._ I told myself. Yeah, right. I'll never know how Brennan pushes emotions like this away. Out of sight, out of mind? Maybe that was the problem. I could never not see Sweets at the office and now I was seeing him in my house.

How is it possible? That he's gone? Aren't people just supposed to disappear once they're gone? Isn't that what Bones says? Once you're gone, you're gone? Aren't you supposed to forget what their voices sound like? I can't even say, "Interesting" without choking.

I'm almost angry that I didn't get to see Sweets give it to Parker, which is stupid. It probably didn't mean that much to Parker anyway. And yet it matters now, so much. He didn't have to be so friendly to my kids. So helpful to Brennan. I mean, sure, all the others helped Brennan too, but not like he did. Not even Angela. Did Angela find and circle real estate ads in the paper? No. Did Hodgins carry boxes of stuff from the old house? Did Cam drive the u-haul? Had Wendell ever taken Christine to daycare? Had any of them even made dinner for Christine and Bones?

If anyone's soul was going to make it to Heaven, it'd be his. That thought brought me conciliation. I've been thinking it a lot recently. If I could have one soul watching my back from Heaven, that'd be him, too. Having him watching my back on earth would be nice too, though.

This morning I tripped over a soccer ball and landed flat on my back. Christine laughed. Brennan sucked a breath in through clenched teeth and winced in empathy. She came over and held out a hand to me and I let her think she was helping me up. Even let her throw her weight into it a little. I almost laughed at the thought when I remembered it was Sweet's soccer ball. That sobered me up. Second toy in a week that turned up as Sweets's.

I remember the exact day we played with the soccer ball. It was Michael Vincent's Birthday party. Hodgins, Parker and Wendell against me Sweets and Michael Vincent. A battle of the ages. Normally Cam, Wendell and Sweets wouldn't be at this kind of a thing-one of the kids' parties- but there was promise of a little get together for the adults once the party had ended. Plus, they're family.

Anyway, we had the upper hand. Sweets had played all through middle and high school. Tactical advantage-Sweets pretended to stumble around with the ball for the first few minutes. The other team started getting comfortable. They made a couple goals. Brennan had Christine on her shoulders. Both were cheering and yelling at Parker and I.

"Go Parker! Get it, Parker!" Brennan yelled.

"Hey! Who's side are you on?" I yelled. She winked.

"Go, Daddy!" Christine cheered.

"That's my girl!" I yelled, juking Parker with a fake kick to the right and a real one to the left. I slipped right past him. "Ha! Ha-ha!"

"Michael Vincent, go long!" Sweets yelled, having received my pass. Clumsily, of course, to keep up the ruse.

"Parker, close the gap!" Hodgins called. "Wendell, give the kid some back up!"

Wendell approached Sweets. Parker, too, closed in.

Angela, Cam and Bones shouted encouragements from the sidelines. And a few jeers at Sweets, just for fun.

"Sweets, try not tripping on your own feet. It might help." Angela laughed. Sweets shot her a quick glare. She waved flirtatiously.

10 minutes in we were down by three. We had 5 minutes at the most till the kids attention started shifting to thoughts of cake. We had to end this. I gave Sweets and Michael Vincent the signal we discussed, three short high pitched whistles.

Michael Vincent looked up at me, grinning. Sweets had the exact same look on his face that Michael did. Priceless. We made a triangle formation, abandoning our goal. Sweets was the tip, Michael Vincent and I the flanks. Parker's eyes grew wide. He knew when his old man was up to something. Hodgins and Wendell were blissfully unaware of the domination they were about to face.

It's almost sad how quickly the game ended. Michael Vincent blocked out Wendell. Also tactical, since I knew Wendell wouldn't fight too hard against the kid. I took Hodgins. That left Parker to Sweets. No problem.

All I had to do was stand in front of Hodgins, a brick wall. He tried to get around me. He failed. Wendell did his best. His best not to trip over Michael Vincent, that is. That kid had some moves, I'll tell you what. Sweets easily out maneuvered Parker. I'd have to work with him on that. No big deal, though. It's good for him to lose every once in a while. Kid's got an ego the size of Texas sometimes. Brennan says he acquired that from me. I argue its her influence more than anything.

Okay, I'll admit. It was a little cruel of us. We could have stopped scoring much sooner. Brennan said that the final score of 10 to 4 was mean. Pff...

I remember what Sweets said to me, off to the side. "Squinterns- zero. Special Agents-One." We

laughed at that.

Hodgins and Wendell shook their heads at us, smiling ruefully.

"Watch out, boys. You have it coming one day." Hodgins threatened.

"Yeah, guys. Cute trick. The real advantage you had was having the birthday boy on your team. We couldn't have, in good conscious, let him lose, could we?" Wendell added.

"Oh. Oh! Is that why you lost? Okay, sure. Keep telling yourselves that." I prodded.

"Yeah, I mean, if it helps you sleep at night. It's a great way to cope." Sweets said, the last bit directed at Hodgins.

Hodgins scowled good naturedly and rolled his eyes. "This isn't over."

Sweets and I played Hodgins and Wendell three more times that day. Bones rooted loudly for me and Sweets the whole time. They fought valiantly. Really, the didn't lose as badly as we thought they would. But they did lose.

After the last round Sweets laid in the dirt, spread eagle, grinning and panting. I reached down to help him up but he bounced up and dusted himself off. I kept my hand outstretched, and he took my hand in his own, and shook. We were both grinning.

Sweets grinned at me, "One day, Booth. You and me, one on one."

"Oh, you're on." I assured. We never got around to playing that game.

BXB

Booth was kneeling by the bed on the floor on his side -the left- when Brennan entered. His eyes were shut, hands clasped. When she noticed she tried to back out of the room as quietly as possible, to give him his space. It wasn't uncommon for her to find Booth praying. When she did she said nothing, just stayed quiet and tried not to disturb him. Although she wasn't religious, she understood that he was, and she respected that. Faith was one of the many things that endeared him to her.

"It's alright, Bones. I was done anyway." Booth was telling the truth. He had finished ten minutes ago, and just hadn't found a good enough reason to get off the floor. It was comfortable enough, and he had nothing pressing to get to-Christine had been tucked in an hour ago.

Brennan was worried. He'd been less motivated lately. He didn't smile as much. Then again, she couldn't judge. She'd been the same. Sweet's death had taken it's toll. He slumped forward, forehead resting against the mattress. Brennan walked over, laid out across the foot of the bed on her stomach, directly in front of Booth, face to face with him. He kept his head down.

Brennan regarded Booth. She reached out and ran her fingers across the top of his head, her nails dragging lightly against his scalp, the back of his neck, gliding to his temples. She traced the pads of her index fingers gently but firmly against his temples. Booth sighed and lifted his head. She left her hands where they were, so when his head was completely lifted toward hers, her hands rested on his cheeks. Her thumbs pulled softly at the worry lines at the corners of his eyes.

Booth clasped her hands, a silent plea for her not to worry so much. He did not let go of her hands, but rather brought them to his mouth and kissed them once. That was another call for her not to worry. Her eyes filled with tears. For Sweets and for Booth and for all the people who would live not having known Sweets.

"Come here, Temperance." He got up of his knees, pushing off the mattress with his palms. He captured her her hand with one of his and she slipped off the bed and into his arms without protest. Her arms twined around his neck and he stroked her back and rocked gently side to side.

"Oh, Booth..." She whispered against his chest.

"Shh, Brennan." He kissed her temple.

"This is why I used to rationalize, push everyone away, Booth. Everyone leaves." She sighed, "Can't get hurt if you don't let anyone hurt you."

"Whoa, Bones, back it up." He pulled her gently away, grasping her shoulders and stooping to get on eye level with her. "Would you rather never have loved me? I've hurt you, I know that. Does that mean you'd rather not love me?"

She scrubbed at her eyes, shook her head furiously. "Of course not, Booth. Why would you even say that? You know I'm better for loving you."

"And I'm better for loving you." She said nothing. "So?" He prompted.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Your logic is firm."

"Hey, look at that." He kissed her mouth, smiling. "Bested at your own game," he said against her lips. She smiled too, despite herself. Booth scuttled toward the bed, directing Brennan backwards. He then sat on the bed and drew her next to him and threw his arm around her shoulder. She responded by resting her head on his shoulder.

"What'll we do without him?" She asked grainily.

"Exactly what we did with him here. We'll solve murders and we'll take Christine to daycare and we'll have petty arguments which end in compromise and laughter."

"Well, I guess you've got us all figured out." She mused.

"How does it sound?"

"It sounds like a pretty good life."

"Yep, we'll disagree only to find a solution and catch killers. And on occasion we'll remember a guy who used to help us do those same things. A great guy who caught killers and bickered just like us. And we'll share stories and sometimes they'll make us sad. But then we'll remember all the things he taught us and we'll be okay. And you know what? Where ever he is, he'll do the same. He'll use the things he learned here, maybe he'll mope a little because he misses us. But he'll go on doing just what he needs to do, and he'll be happy."

"That sounds..." Booth got ready for the hard ball. "It sounds impossible." Booth got off easy, he supposed. "And-" Had he thought too soon? "Kind of wonderful. I hope you're right about it. I don't think I believe it. But that doesn't stop me from hoping for it."

Booth dragged her backward, onto the pillows with him and kissed her steadily. His focus was on her and hers on him. Full focus, unclouded by the grief of the past few weeks.

"Love you, Bones."

"Love you, Booth."

Then and there, the two made a pact. No matter what they faced, they'd fight back, right to the end, just as Sweets. In honor of Sweets.


End file.
